by Angel Lawson
“And the pictures?” he asks. “When did you start taking them?”
“I got the camera three years ago.” I smile down at the one possession I truly owned, bought with cash I’d earned myself. He wants to ask more, I can tell by the way his eyes are darting around, but he just nods. “It’s just a few photos, dude.” I tell him. “I don’t have a personal flock that follows me from country to country, and my dreams are normal dreams, not visions through someone else’s eyes—”
Oh, hell. My hair is only half an inch long, but every strand stands straight up. I step backward. Sit down on the bed.
“Tell me.” I rub my forearms with my palms. “Tell me how it works. With your sister.”
“We don’t know how it works.” Julian kicks a milk crate out of his way, sits down on his own bed. “We’ve studied everything. Medical journals, new-age self-help books, Freud, Jung, everything.”
“What do you see?” My voice is tight in my throat.
“I see what she dreams.”
“Through her eyes?” I ask. “Or are you in the dream beside her?”
“I see what she sees. I’m in her head.” He glances at the journal on his desk. “Or she’s in mine.”
“Can you hear her thoughts? Can you talk to each other?”
“No.” He shakes his head. He’s perched on the edge of the mattress, arms wrapped around his knees. His profile is the same as his sister’s, with thinner lips, now pressed tight.
“What about during the day, when you’re awake? Can you see through her eyes then?” When he only shakes his head, I push. “Not even like flashes? Like if you’re looking through something?”
“No. What are you getting at?” He sits up straight again. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I know. I believe you.” I look away, hold up the Nikon. “My camera. It went weird, today. Like when I looked through it, I saw stuff that wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw stuff I shouldn’t have seen. Like things I wasn’t close enough to see.” I breathe deep, already feeling stupid for what I’m about to say. “I saw what the girls were looking at.”
“Through their eyes?”
I don’t say, no, just your sister’s. “I saw the sofa in Sonja’s house. When I was two blocks away.”
“Let me see.” He reaches for the camera.
“They didn’t show up. They didn’t save to the data stick.”
“So it was all in your head?” But when I nod, he doesn’t call me a liar. “Next time, write it down, or draw it, and document the time,” he says. His eyes are sharp on mine. “What is she doing now?”
“Jeremy.”
He makes a face. “What about Faye?”
I pick up the camera, and then put it down. “Dude, this is creepy. Like a total invasion. What if she’s in the shower or something?”
His jaw drops open. “Um. Yeah, okay, no.”
But I won’t see Faye in my camera, no matter how hard I look, I know. This is about Memory and me, and our lightning kiss.
“Is this the first time it’s happened?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
I don’t look away from his stare until he flops back on the bed, and faces the ceiling. “I wonder if it’s us, or this place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Her dreams have been getting worse. Darker, lonelier. Less flying, more bird skulls. But the last one? It was too vivid. Like a Technicolor 3D horror movie, start to finish. And it hurt.”
“But it’s just dreams, right? They don’t mean anything.”
“You don’t get it.” He toes off his sneakers, kicks them to the floor.
“So tell me.”
“You ever have nightmares?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Everyone does.”
“How much of them do you remember? A second of terror as you fall from nowhere? The old crone with the teeth; you know she’s horrid, but you’ve forgotten what her face looks like. You wake up freaking out after seeing the monster in the closet, but he’s gone by the time you eat your breakfast toast, right?
“Sure.”
“My sister doesn’t forget. Every second of every paralyzing terror, since we were old enough to dream. And she gets mine, too.”
I reach into my pocket, pull out the tiny silver pendant, pinch it between my thumb and forefinger until they’re both numb. When I put it back in my pocket, and rub my fingertips together, I can still feel it, indented in my skin.
A whirr and a bleep of his laptop powering down are the only noises in the room. Outside, a door closes on a feminine giggle.
“What about girls?” I ask, struck tactless with the thought. “Does she see you dreaming of girls?”
“Don’t ask me that, dude.” He covers his face with an elbow.
“Does she? Dream about guys? Does she sketch that, too?!”
“No!” His voice is muffled. “And I told you, I don’t fucking remember, okay?”
I try not to laugh at him, and mostly succeed, because that would suck, your own sister knowing your darkest kink, the things you won’t even let your self-conscious see awake. An image slides beneath my eyelids, a girl, all legs and lips, covered in stolen diamond jewelry, draped over her skin, her hips. I jerk my eyes open, blink twice.
“My crone has talons,” I say.
14.
Makeover
The weekend passes, slow and lazy. Julian spends most of it in the library. I bring him coffee, Faye brings him lunch, but we don’t talk to him. Ethan lets me in their room to grab up my brother’s laundry, and doesn’t look me in the eye, though I feel his stare like a bug bite on the back of my neck. I work online while our clothes are in the wash, committing picture after picture to my mental archive, each tagged with a url so I can find them again. When I finally pry my eyeballs from the screen, our clothes are dry and in a heap on top of the machine, and someone else’s towels tumble inside.
I walk back to the room, my laptop in the hamper. Faye’s towel and shower basket are gone, which gives me time to plot how to approach her. I’ve got her closet open and I’m staring at fifteen textures of brown when I stop, distracted.
Sonja’s package is back on her bed. I pick it up, shake it a little. Sounds the same. The back flap is one of those self stick kinds, easy to peel up. I test it with my thumbnail.
“Ethan gave that to me this afternoon,” Faye says, setting her shower caddy on desk. Her face is scrubbed pink.
I sit back down on Sonja’s bed. “He barely spoke to me all day.”
She rubs at her hair with a towel. When her back is turned, I plug in my curling iron.
“Well,” she says, as she flicks through the hangers of dark, drab and dull. “I think he’s handling it pretty well. Too well.”
I glance out the window, searching, and sure enough, on a low branch of a near tree, sit Faye’s crows. I wave at them, but they don’t notice me. “You mean, he hasn’t gone running to the admin, weirded out by the freaks?”
“He has a few secrets of his own, I think. And he still watches you, when you aren’t looking, all day long.”
“He’s with Danielle.”
“And you’re with a pretty grad student.” She gives me a look that I duck away from, and pulls out something shapeless from the dresser.
“How about trying something different tonight?” I suggest.
She clutches at the towel that’s cinched in the middle of her chest. “Different how?”
“Well, maybe something more eye-catching?” Even though I want to throw open my closet and pull out everything I own, I stay in my desk chair. “Tonight’s a big deal.”
She shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t know what to wear. I’m a little nervous. I’ve never interacted with this many people my own age before. Shouldn’t I just be comfortable?”
I pick my words with care. “Think about it like wearing a costume, to grab your audience’s attention even before you speak. Might even give you a boost of confidence.
” I don’t want to tell her girls in our class call her ‘the homeless girl’. I nudge again, gently. “It’s fun to dress up a little. But it’s no big deal. Julian and I will be there to support you either way.”
“Do you have anything I could borrow? Maybe that’s green?”
I have four outfits at my fingertips before she even finishes her sentence, and after three changes and one fit of the giggles, we settle on an emerald suede jacket that barely comes to my hips and fits her like a dress.
She preens in front of the mirror, and then tugs at the button that closes low on her torso. “You can tell I’m not wearing a bra.”
“You don’t need one.” I eyeball her cleavage. The coat lies perfectly, hinting more than revealing.
“Good, because I don’t have any!” She cups her modest chest in her palms. “I’ve always wanted one. But is not something I could exactly ask Dad to buy me for my birthday. Yours are very pretty. You really don’t mind me borrowing this?”
“Are you kidding? You look a hell of a lot better in it than I do!” My brain is busy browsing every on-line lingerie shopping link I’ve ever seen. “I nearly didn’t bring it because it would be too warm for June.”
“I’m always cold,” she says, then eyes my platforms. “What about shoes? I don’t want to fall off the stage or anything.”
“You wear a size six. I’m five-foot-ten. My feet are the same size as the starting center for Duke. Plus, I’m not really into sharing shoes.” I root through the bottom of her closet, and pull out a pair of long leather boots with buttons all the way up. “Where have you been hiding these? They’re hot!”
“What should I do with my hair?”
“I’m going to curl it, so we actually see your face for once. And yes, I’m doing your makeup, too.”
She looks nervous again. “I’m picking out my jewelry,” she says, her voice and mouth firm. “You might mix wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you can wear a Kokopelli pendant with the rune raido, that’s good for travelling and journeys, but you don’t want to wear him with uruz, or you might just wind up with your skirt over your head and some stranger’s pelli in your koko.” Her hands make blatant gestures.
“Fine. You choose the jewelry.”
*
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Shut up.” Julian glares at me and toys again with the coffee cup on the table. “Why are you so bitchy tonight?”
“I’m not being a bitch. I’m excited.”
He takes a drink. “Explain to me why you’re so hyper about a poetry reading? One of your boyfriends reading erotic sonnets to you? You do realize this isn’t some kind of e e cummings porn-disguised-as-poetry type of situation, right?”
Normally I would cut him down to size for implying I’m only here for dirty literature, but he knows me too well, and I really am jazzed at how amazing Faye looks. By the end of the night, she’ll catch the eye of a dozen guys.
“So what’s up your ass?” I ask him. “It’s Sunday, our one day off from classes, and you act like you’re studying for the GREs.”
He looks around the room, eyes the clutch of teachers in the back, and takes a deep breath. “I think I’ve discovered something. Something big.”
“About Ethan?”
He sloshes coffee on the table. “Have you talked to him today?”
“Not really, why?”
“This isn’t about him.” He grabs at the napkin I brought. “It’s about the—”
“Shhh!” The girl at the next table has her finger to her lips.
A boy with shaggy brown hair takes the stage and recites a poem about the government being corrupt, using mice and cats for imagery. As the crowd claps and the poets change, I scan the darkened room. Ethan left the dorm as Julian and I met in the grass between the buildings, but I haven’t seen him since.
I can’t picture him having a good time with this crowd. I push aside the thought of him, cozy with Danielle, kissing without thunderbolts frying their brains.
“Where is Faye?” my twin asks, again.
“She’s in the back, with the others. She had to come early to sign for a spot.”
“What is she doing?”
“She wanted it to be a surprise.” I say to Julian. “I just hope everyone is fully clothed in it. That girl is impossible to predict.”
My brother snorts at my comment and fidgets with his cup again. I catch Jeremy’s eye, as he leans against the door near the kitchen. He winks and makes a gesture to his watch and signals the numbers three and zero, his estimated time before we can meet. I flash him a cool smile. I’ll catch up with him when I’m ready, though I hope it’s soon.
“I’m not sure how much more of the I-can-save-the-world-through-my-mental-vomit I can listen to,” I mutter. “I just came to see her.”
“I think she’s next. They just lowered the microphone a foot,” he says. Then he groans as the MC announces a break for coffee refills. “Look, we need to talk about the project. And the book.”
“Really? Now? Can’t you give it a rest for a minute?”
“Can’t you just listen to what I have to say? It’s important.” He glances at the stage, then glares back at me.
“Supporting Faye is important! That’s why we’re here.”
“Right. You’re supporting Faye by making eyes at Jeremy all night,” he says. “Does he know his ‘use before’ date is almost up? He’s got, what, at most a week left?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea? You could really get him in trouble, and remember what happened last summer with—”
“Please don’t say his name.”
He sighs. “Can’t you just focus on the project, and not your libido?”
I flick his wadded napkin at him, “Look. You’re here to do your thing. But art schools don’t give a flying crap about extra academic credit. I’m here so you can have a chance at that scholarship, and yeah, maybe I do feel somewhat guilty about Marcus giving you all that shit, but his actions were his own doing, not mine. So here’s the tradeoff: you leave me alone and I help you get your geek on.”
“How am I supposed to do that when you—”
“Just shut it, Jules. This is the last summer we’ll be here. Maybe next year you can come back as a teaching assistant, but after this I’m done. And yeah, I’m going to have fun while I’m here. I’ll do my work, but you need to lighten up.”
The MC moves to the microphone and announces the next reader.
“Faye isn’t too busy to have a good time while doing her studies. See? Check her out.” I place my fingers between my lips and let out a loud cat-call. “Doesn’t she look amazing?”
She looks like a 1930’s world traveler, Amelia Earhart scarf at her neck and coat belted tight to show off her curves, stopping mid thigh for a short show of skin at her knees, and then those sexy boots. Her makeup is glamorous, sultry eyes and glossy nude mouth. Julian stares at her hard, like most of the boys in the room, but then he turns and shoots me a look of pure horror.
She steps up to the microphone, petite but confident. “Just to be clear, I didn’t write this, but I did help translate it. It’s a children’s teaching rhyme from the ninth century AD, from a runestone found near the Gamla Upsala burial mounds. It’s called the Hrafnafodr, which means ‘Raven-Father.’”
My brother whispers, “What is going on? What did—” but I shush him.
Faye’s voice is light, but steady.
“Father Odin of many names
Who we call the Weather-Master
Kept ravens as his eyes,
To whisper the doings of men
While riding on his shoulder.
Thought flew so high and far
Odin feared Huginn would be lost
But Memory was more dear,
And he kept Muninn closer.
War soared above the wolve
s,
Hungry and Greedy for battle
And Magic followed after
Riding the eight-legged steed
Odin Soul-Reaper named Sleipnir.
They heralded the spirits of the slain
And dreamt of those yet fallen,
But their vision was not strong
And the ravens sought a sister.
So King Odin of many shapes
Who we call the Grey Wanderer
Drew on a cloak of night
And courted the witch Mimir
Whose well of knowledge flowed
With secrets of ever after.
Odin All-Father left his eye
In base of the fountain,
For Wisdom has a price.
And this must not be forgotten.”
The room is silent when she finishes. Faye grins shy but huge, clutching the cheat sheet of paper she never needed to use. I’m the first one clapping, followed by the rest of the room, except for my brother. Julian isn’t clapping. Or smiling. Or anything.
“What the hell?” I nudge him with my elbow but he doesn’t move. “A little applause for our girl? She was great!”
“What did you do?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
He stares at Faye as she dashes off the stage, barely avoiding a collision with the next hipster poet on his way to the little stage. A cute guy from one of the performing arts groups catches her. “To her. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.” I shake my head, and grin in her direction, where yet another music student is trying to get her attention. “That’s all her. I just helped her find it.”
“By forcing her into some costume of what you think she should look like? What your trashy fashion magazines think is attractive?”
“What? I didn’t force her into anything! She wanted to look nice!”
“She’s seventeen, Memory. A minor. And you’ve got her dressed up in some slutted-up mini version of you!” The moment the words are out of his mouth he blanches white and he stands up, shoving the chair back with a loud scrape.
I grab his arm, ignoring the students around us who turn in our direction. “Did you just call me a slut?”
